From the moment Arturia drew forth her sword, to the moment she promptly sheathed it, barely a few seconds had passed.
Yet it was enough.
The light of Excalibur was the light of dreams. A crystallization of unfading hopes and ambitions unchanged regardless of the passing of eras. It was the Holy Sword of the Fae, granted to the Lady of the Lake for self-keeping, and then to the King of Knights.
Within its lustrous blade was an unfathomable might; a strength tying into that known only in deep seated legends with roots stemming to the properties of the world itself.
Despite it being the very sword Shirou had designed for her in YGGDRASIL using the basis of a World Item, something had become different about it after traversing to this New World. It seemed grander, more illustrious, and bearing a greater purpose than what it had bore in the game.
Perplexed, she had sheathed it on an impulse, but even still, its intended use was effective.
"W-What is that sword?"
Vincent's voice came out in a stutter, the cloud of depression and sorrow hanging over him fading away as if it were never there. He straightened his back from where he was leaning it on a tree, attention focused solely on the sheathed sword still in Arturia's hands. The feeling he had felt upon laying eyes on the sword was indescribable. It was a blend of a tender light, with the ferocity and bearings of the foretold might of the ancient Paladin-class that had long since died out with the rest of the Players in history.
It was only proper that Vincent grew immensely curious.
However, his answer was met by silence, Arturia's lips thinning as she frowned lightly before shaking her head. It wasn't that she couldn't explain what Excalibur was, but at the moment, she herself wasn't exactly too sure. More so with the inexplicable emotions contained within her. She wouldn't so easily make any assumptions.
Understanding that he wouldn't be getting a response, Vincent didn't force the subject and instead closed his mouth, unwilling to infringe upon the tacit calm of the moment. Rather, even if he wanted to press for answers, he knew that his time was better spent contemplating his situation. The further he thought though, the more helpless he became, the temporary peace of mind Excalibur had brought him gradually losing its effect.
Just as Arturia had said, he could indeed place his faith in that Holy blade, but his faith could only take him so far. What Vincent needed was resolve, and how could a King who had led countless Knights and soldiers to battle not be able to see that?
"You are thinking too much," Arturia spoke, interrupting Vincent's train of thought before approaching sternly.
The clanking of her armour was echoed only by the force of her steps, leaving behind detailed imprints on the mud over the ground. Oddly enough, not one piece of mud or dirt was able to stain the steel of her greaves or the fabric of her flowing mantle as if the world itself thought it a sin.
Although Vincent took note of this minor detail, it wouldn't be something that he would be awe struck by until later when he would return to the Berferd Dutchy. At present, he was too busy to care while being solemnly glared at by such enchanting teal eyes.
"You think that your situation is unfair or hopeless?" Arturia's lips pressed firmly together as she spoke. "That giving in is the only option you have left when things get too difficult?"
Arturia grimaced, her teeth grit together as her cheeks raised.
"I have seen worse. A world where men kill men not because of politics and petty squabbles, but to secure a living. In comparison, a single routing from your enemies shouldn't be enough to shake your will and your courage."
Vincent stared, before clenching his jaw and swallowing.
"You don't understand how it's been with the Aristocracy," Vincent countered. "This may look to you like a simple routing, but far from it, numerous other Noble families may have had a hand in this matter for mere short-term gains. It won't end with just this routing, let alone if I'm able to escape it."
Veins were bulging from Vincent's neck due to the heatedness in which he spoke. One could only push someone so far before anger became natural, and the way the other nobility had planned things infuriated him. Of all the times they could have chosen to attack him, it had to be in the instance where his father's influence or his own could not shield him. It was tradition in the Berferd family. No help would come to aid the undertaker in the trial of the Blood Wolf.
Fine, he could accept that, but to send so many people against just himself and a small entourage of men and women, how shameless could the other side get?
The filth and cunning of his treacherous associates of the Aristocracy could never be truly understood by an outsider.
Only, the somberness in Arturia's gaze quelled Vincent's building frustration like a bucket of water over his head. There was a sadness and empathy present not only in her features but in her very disposition. Her glare eased, changing into something wistful, sedate, as her gaze seemed to blur. It almost made Vincent feel guilty of what he had said.
She didn't seem as if she was staring at him, but instead at a distant past.
"You say I do not understand, Vincent Berferd, but I do," she muttered lowly.
The memories within her mind revealed a childhood and adolescence plagued by conspiracy and deception. Unable to step out into the light, and unable to be like the rest; never making a single friend until the day she shed her identity as a villager and took forth the Sword of Selection. Even then, she had always been the target of her very own elder sister, the Witch, Morgan Le Fay.
In regard to Vincent's troubles, she could understand them all too well, for she had experienced the same.
"I really do."
The surety, depth, and sentiment in Arturia's voice was unquestionable.
Vincent was stunned, mouth closing as shame filled him, making him glance away. Yet Arturia would not have it. Not now.
"Raise your head," she said. "You are a Noble, and should know never to bow your head lightly. Not for someone like me."
The very King who eventually led her Kingdom to its ruin despite the legend of her name.
Arturia pursed her lips before putting away the bitterness that welled from within her.
"Raise your head, Vincent Berferd!"
Her countenance once again grew serious, the sudden shift jolting Vincent to stare up.
There he saw the sight of an individual not angry at him, but on his behalf, no ulterior motives to be found.
"Do not give up so easily. It's because I've experienced a similar situation that I can say this with confidence," she said as she knelt down where Vincent sat; a resolution to her that made it seem as if she was bathed in a divine light.
"Should a time come when the world itself has degraded to a state of corruption where petty greed and profit stand above all morals," Gently, slowly, she extended a hand forth; lightly tapping Vincent's chest at the location of his heart before pulling back and tapping over her own.
"Believe in honour."
She tapped his left shoulder next.
"In duty."
Then his right shoulder.
"In oaths."
She pulled back, clenching her hand into a fist which she placed over her chest.
"And in integrity."
Silence, the serenity of it all captured solely by the eyes of nature, and the man whose heart and convictions were thoroughly moved. Not a word could leave Vincent's mouth, not even if he tried.
Nodding her head solemnly, Arturia stepped back onto her feet and looked down at the man before her.
"Do so Vincent Berferd, and I guarantee you that you shall never fall into despair, and never lose your way again."
Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was all too clear in Vincent's ears, his unease giving way to a reverence within him that Arturia would never have had been able to imagine.
In the Roble Holy Kingdom, it wasn't the Royal Family that had the most influence, but the Holy Knights who supported the Royal Family. In which case, there was only one reason the Holy Knights would be held in such high regard.
The National Hero of the Holy Kingdom and the ideals and character she represented.
At present, the individual known as the Valkyrie of Roble Vincent had always studied in the history books coincided with Arturia's image, rendering him motionless.
"And perhaps, just maybe, you may lead others better than I ever could have."
As the King without Emotion.
Vincent's heart wrenched within his chest, seeing the grief and misery that suddenly flashed across Arturia's features, but before he could dwell on it or Arturia's words, she was already moving.
"Wait! Where are you going?" He said, his feet pushing him off the ground and to a stand.
She paused at his call, the mantle draped over her shoulders billowing in a still breeze while the loose tresses of her hair framed her side-profile.
"That answer is simple," she intoned. "When all alternatives are cut off in war, and there are no means of escape, what does any lion, wolf, or animal do?"
She twisted her head to stare back.
In the gentle hum of the forest, with leaves falling and animals grazing upon the grass and shrubs, only two words resounded.
They Fight.
The Southernmost Region of the Roble Holy Kingdom situated within the borders of the Re-Estize Kingdom was geographically opposite of the bay dividing the South from the North. Unlike the North however, the majority of the rivers and eddies formed from the moving currents of the large bay emptied out in the South, forming regions of deposited sediments and deltas that comprised an entire rural suburban zone.
Of course, not all places were densely populated due to the unpredictability of flooding, but the fertility of the land was unquestionable. More so with the spring water that melted from the mountainside and formed small ponds that attracted migratory birds and wild game for hunting.
For any countryside resident of the Holy Kingdom, it was truly an ideal location to live despite some natural hazards. However, the matter was different when it concerned those not generally used to such conditions.
"I hate this place," a prim, yet contemptuous voice sounded out.
A young woman wearing silk-bound leathers embroidered with lavish gold linings grumbled to herself as she pulled her shin-high riding boots from out of the mud in which they had sank in. Her nose wrinkled upon completion of the action, the dirt and grime staining her footwear preventing anyone from determining just how luxurious they had once been.
"It's dirty, there's bugs, and it smells of salt and musk," the woman's gaze directed whimsically downward, as if the heat of her glare could instantly cleanse her of nature's filth.
"Look at them," she said gesturing to her boots. "I'll have to get a new pair!"
Off to the side, one of the two young men busy staring across at the forest before them, glanced back and scoffed.
"Elanor Hubert, did you hit your head on a rock to forget the importance of what we're doing here? If you care so much about your boots than use that magic you're so proud of."
Elanor huffed, crossing her arms before her eyes narrowed.
"This is why I say you have no class Marteo. It's precisely because of the importance of this mission that I can't waste my magical reserves on a cleansing magic."
Elanor was a talented Magic-Caster belonging to one of the top three Aristocratic households of the Southern Roble Kingdom. The other two before her were heirs of the other top Aristocratic households. Marteo Vandele, and Dillan Merdings each with their own talents.
Marteo was of the Knight-class, a high job class that required strict discipline and Noble status to acquire as most teachers of the profession were of greater standing than most. Similar to Elanor, he too was proficient in his field, reaching an esteemed job-level of six after a mere few years of his life.
Dillan Merdings was different from the two. If Elanor and Marteo could be considered talented in their own rights, then Dillan was a genius. He was proficient in not only one job-class, but three. Knight, Cleric, and most importantly Forest Stalker, a Ranger sub-class that allowed one to be entuned with nature itself. The Human race in the first place was perhaps the most numerous when it came to job classes and opportunity, but that didn't mean that humans were accomplished in all job-classes.
Take both Marteo and Elanor. Both Knight and Magic-Caster weren't their only job-classes, yet their other classes were at too low of a level to be of much repute. In this regard, Dillan who had mastered three to at least the ninth level was deserving of his reputation.
The Forest Stalker job-class was the reason why Dillan was the one in charge out of the current coalition of High-Nobles and several mid-class Nobles in the area. Everything that happened within a set distance of several hundred meters with him at the apex was known to him, making him the eyes and ears of the operation.
As Marteo and Elanor bickered, the frown growing on Dillan's face became more apparent.
"Jed's not back yet," Dillan suddenly spoke, causing Marteo and Elanor to frown before ceasing hostilities.
Jed was the bowman of the Merding's family with a high enough aptitude that he was already reaching the foremost peak of his Archer-class. Not many could deal with the accuracy and strength of a master Archer at a distance and it was knowing this that Dillan had approved Jed's departure.
When Vincent had ran from the initial ambush prior to the defensive perimeter currently set up around the forest, Vincent had been able to reach far enough to bypass the range of Dillan's Forest Stalking skills. However, Dillan didn't pursue, rather he couldn't even if he wanted to. From where he was, he had a clear grasp of anything attempting to escape the forest, and thus by changing his position, he would lose that advantage and give rise to variables he didn't want to deal with; say if Vincent was able to circle around him and escape. Ergo, the need to send others to search instead.
"Are you sure Jed's just not taking his time?" Elanor asked, cheeks raising.
Dillan glanced at Elanor, but didn't say anything. Marteo's response was more than enough.
"It's been five hours of us standing here," Marteo said.
Indeed. It had been exactly five hours, and Dillan knew that all Merdings Family men were trained to report back a failed mission after three, or at least send word of their location and findings. Jed had done neither of those two options, and he was a man that the Merdings family had invested a lot into. Meaning, that something must have had gone wrong.
Dillan released a breath. Jed was not someone he wished to have die under his command, more so when Jed had only been entrusted to him by his father to ensure the mission's success. However, at this point, there was nothing he could do but wait.
The majority of the men and women in the area were subordinates sent by the Lower-class Nobles vying for favour amongst the High-Nobles. With the fall of the Berferd Dutchy, the vast land in which it occupied at the buffer zone of Aristocratic conflict would be up for the taking.
Rather than a sole family having control of everything, it was agreed upon by the other High-Nobles that it was more suited to their interest if the land was controlled by smaller lords. In which case, it was unlikely that they would be able to put aside their differences and band together in the face of opposition or control enough men to organize a meaningful attack. For such a thing to occur however, the Berferd family still ultimately had to perish subtly. Otherwise, the residents of the duchy could revolt or defect to another land in outrage as the Kingdoms comprising Re-Estize didn't participate in the notion of fixed land workers. Serfs, by another term, didn't exist in the New World.
Which was why it was that much more important to eliminate the heir of the Berferd family.
Back to the point of the matter, it had been five hours like Marteo said.
"Jed must have just been sidetracked," Dillan decided to convince himself by telling others. "There's no way Vincent has the required skills to pressure Jed unless the range could be closed."
"Jed's a hunter by hobby. Maybe he spotted a new kind of wild game and decided to hunt it before returning?" Marteo reasoned.
"Yeah," Dillan said disbelievingly.
Hunting for a hobby was one thing, but Jed would never do so on a mission that was so important. Regardless, now wasn't the time to think on the matter. At best he could send someone out later when the mission was completed.
Noticing that Dillan didn't wish to speak anymore, Marteo and Elanor tacitly nodded to each other before falling quiet. Waiting.
Of the gathered men and women sent by the temporary alliance of Nobles amounting to around four-hundred, fifty were general Archer-classes, two-hundred were of differing warrior-classes, and the rest were hired mercenaries.
Their numbers were currently stretched thin to surround any exits of the forest, yet the majority of them were lax. Dillan didn't mind though because he knew that they were just waiting for his signal.
If anyone wanted to leave the forest, then he would sense it from hundreds of meters away. By then, it was impossible for him to not have had set up an adequate welcome response.
Coincidentally, his skills alerted him that someone was steadily approaching.
He raised a brow.
Something seemed off about the person approaching. In a general sense, his Forest Stalking job-class wasn't omnipotent. All he could gleam from the skill was the location of the target, and what the woods and nature informed him of. For instance, the grass on the ground could convey how heavy a person or animal was, and the branches and extending twigs from the trees could allow him to estimate a rough size. Furthermore, the unique aura some individuals diffuse off from their bodies could be sensed by the leaves and foliage of the forest. Dark job-classes such as Necromancers for instance gave off a withering aura that drained life from the surroundings.
In this case, the forest was singing.
He couldn't understand it, it was the first time it had ever happened. It was too strange.
Ignoring everything around him, Dillan closed his eyes and attuned himself to his highest level in the Forest Stalker job-class. Within his mind, a picture was steadily forming, supplied by the senses of the forest.
A flutter, a wing beat, and the gentle chiming of wind bells.
Dillan almost didn't know what to make of it before he saw them. Dancing and vocalizing, the spirits spoken only rarely of in the New World for they were the voices of nature itself undetectable by mortal eyes.
The watcher and children of Nature, the Fae.
Their glowing mot-like bodies swirled around an obscure figure and some kind of sheath.
Dillan was shocked, yet it wasn't until he decided to peer in towards the approaching figure that his face paled.
What was staring back at him as transmitted from the trees, the shrubs, and the air, was a pair of massive slitted pupils.
An overbearing pressure overwhelmed him, his mind going blank as a red lumbering scaled body then came within view. Robust and lean, tendrils of flame and steam hissed out with every step creating a smog that encompassed all; the unbearable heat of which he could feel despite not being there in body.
His breath hitched, instantly pulling away from his Forest Stalker skill and breathing heavily. just as a roar deafened his ears.
T-That was…No, it couldn't be!
He swallowed, unwilling to think about what he had just seen for fear of losing his will to fight.
"Dillan?" Marteo called out, puzzled at Dillan's stricken countenance. "What's happening?"
"Move!"
Dillan pushed Marteo aside frantically before running in the direction of the largest congregation of men and women.
"Gather everyone, its coming!" He yelled, the seriousness in his tone conveying the direness of the situation.
Elanor and Marteo had never seen Dillan appear so distressed and immediately grew weary. Dillan was famous amongst the Southern Aristocracy as one the foremost heirs of a top family. Nothing had ever unnerved him.
Elanor calmed her features, pulling out a staff she had had holstered to a strap on her back before chanting and pointing at the gathered crowd of four-hundred ahead.
"Quick March, Lesser Mind Protection, Anti-Evil Protection, Lesser Fear Resistance…"
Numerous defensive and attack buffs were placed over the four-hundred individuals ahead organizing themselves into neat ranks to prevent casualties. In this regard, the mercenaries were the most efficient as what good was coin if one wasn't around to spend it?
Panting after utilizing a large segment of her magical reserves on the others, she then turned towards herself for precaution.
"Rabbit Ears, Rabbit Foot, Bunny Tail."
Each of the spells she called forth enhanced her in a way: Rabbit Ears for advanced hearing, Rabbit Foot to increase luck, and Rabbit Tail to decrease aggression on herself. All were classed as Tier One skills of the Tier Magics, but for a person of Elanor's age, the sheer number of spells she mastered was impressive. In fact, she had already reached the second tier, and had high aspiration to reach the third or fourth before the end of her life. Any higher was just wishful thinking belonging only in ancient myth.
In any case, Elanor still didn't feel safe despite utilizing her magic. After all, despite their preparations the expression on Dillan's face hadn't changed. It was a mix of anxiety and trepidation that was subconsciously eating away at the morale of those who looked up to him.
Elanor pursed her lips, drawing forth from her reserves to cast two last self-enhancement magics.
"Camouflage, Odorless."
In a heart beat, she disappeared from the naked eye, becoming invisible and losing her scent. Should she remain still, it would be difficult for any general adversary to spot her, yet just to be safe, she discreetly made her way to stand behind Marteo and Dillan.
Both of the two had drawn their weapons, Marteo a large broadsword, and Dillan a short sword. As Elanor was a good head shorter than both men, she felt a bit better with the two in front of her.
"I'll support from here," she spoke out, causing both Marteo and Dillan to nod as this wasn't the first time that they had all worked together.
Dillan swallowed. In the silence, the vast congregation of men and women grew tense as the steady sound of footsteps over the earth resounded in Dillan's ears due to his job-class. The noise was akin to the beating of his heart in his chest, unknowing of just what sort of adversary he was about to face.
Five hundred meters.
Three hundred.
Then one.
In the distance, the approaching figure drew clearer after passing through the last segment of dense forestry and into a short clearing.
Marteo was stunned.
"A-A Goddess?" Marteo muttered, causing Elanor to frown before discreetly pushing Marteo away to get a glimpse.
Immediately, a feeling of inferiority that she had never once felt before flooded her mind as Arturia's form was distinctly made out.
From the moment Shirou had first created Arturia in YGGDRASIL, she above all was the one he had spent the most time on. Blemishes and minor details were impossible to be found on her; the natural radiance and elegance she had exuded in life, all painstakingly recreated from the efforts of a broken man. In the end, the result showed.
Her emerald eyes remained clear and steadfast even before the large group of people before her. The clanging of her armour was like a soft melody as her battle skirt rippled with every movement. Finally, she stopped just shy of fifty meters away and within shooting range of the Archers.
And yet, many of the Archers were reluctant to shoot unless ordered.
No man was willing to harm a flower.
Elanor though was different. From the inferiority she was feeling came an uncomfortable sense of jealousy. If not for the fact that Dillan hadn't issued any commands yet, she would have had already attempted to blast Arturia in the face.
In hindsight, Arturia probably wasn't what she and everyone else should have had been focusing on, but the man trailing behind her with a resolved expression.
Vincent Berferd.
It wasn't until Arturia had stopped that many realized this fact, namely Dillan who had been too distracted staring piercingly at Arturia. Unlike Marteo though, it wasn't out of adoration for beauty, but because of his apprehension.
"Vincent Berferd, you finally show your face. I was beginning to wonder if you'd already died in there," Marteo sneered after reluctantly shifting his attention away from Arturia.
"Marteo Vandele, you weasel. If you truly think yourself a man then call off the others and fight me as a fellow Knight!" Vincent rebuked, warily staring at the Archers with their bows poised.
Marteo had always been prideful of his skills, but unlike Dillan and Elanor, he had competition in regards to Vincent. The both of them were hailed as the foremost Knights in the younger generation of the Southern Kingdom of Roble and many times he had heard himself compared with the Berferd family prodigy. It was infuriating when the majority held him in lower regard, therefore, he had always wanted to prove others wrong.
As such, Vincent's words were exceedingly agreeable with Marteo. However, as Marteo was about to give the command for the Archers mainly consisting of the Vandele's men to stand at ease, Dillan intervened.
"No, something's wrong," Dillan said simply before turning his attention to Arturia. "You, who are you and what purpose do you have in standing with the Berferd family heir?"
Arturia glanced up, not a change in her expression as she spoke justly.
"My name is Arturia, and am purely one who stands on the side of the righteous."
The sound of her voice was tranquil, like the soft calling produced by the swaying of evening reeds.
"What you all are doing here is not something that I could ever agree with," she replied to Dillan before shifting her attention towards Marteo. "And you," she glared. "A Knight? You lack the conviction, character, and true dedication to ever call yourself a Knight. You stain the title."
Marteo's teeth clenched as a vein popped over his forehead. He had once had pleasant thoughts and intentions upon first sighting Arturia, thinking to woo her with his natural charm. However, now he just wanted nothing more than to know if she could maintain such an attitude towards him after he ravaged her in his bed; not stopping until 'Young Lord' was the only thing that could ever come out from her mouth. After all, the outcome of the fight was settled from the moment one thought it possible to face hundreds of enemies with just two people.
Still, it was best for him to stake his claim.
"She's mine," he muttered lowly, the lust in his voice unable to be hidden from Dillan and Elanor who he was talking to.
Elanor bristled in disgust, her lips raising into a scowl.
Dillan however ignored him. The fool couldn't possibly understand what he had seen. In regards to Arturia, Dillan didn't view her as a woman, but as something on a higher level, and this showed in his caution. Since the very beginning of the discussion, he had yet to issue any commands.
"Will you not just leave the matter alone? Gold, possessions, anything you want can be discussed in terms," Dillan tried to reason.
In response, Arturia only shook her head, causing Dillan's apprehension to rise. His gut was telling him that the entire operation would be a failure if he could not find a way to avert the situation.
"Then perhaps we ca-"
"Enough bantering!" Marteo growled.
He had already been incensed by both Vincent and Arturia's remark but had only held himself back because he believed that Dillan would still fight. Yet from Dillan's words alone it was evident that Dillan wished to let Arturia go.
Marteo wouldn't allow it.
"Stand down," Dillan seethed while he glared, sweat building on his brow. "You don't understand what you're facing."
Elanor could sense the gravity of Dillan's words and quickly quelled the jealousy she was feeling inside. Invisible as she was, she whispered lowly to keep her position secured.
"Marteo, just listen to Dillan. He's never been wrong before," she said.
"Are you both fucking kidding me?" Marteo's lips twitched as he raised his voice. "Why the hell are you negotiating when it's clearly wrong? There's only two of them and four-hundred of us!"
Saying that, Marteo pushed past Dillan and raised a hand for the Archers to prepare to fire.
"You're making a mistake!" Dillan yelled, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get the Archers to stop with his words alone due to their allegiance to the Vandele.
"NO, Dillan. YOU'RE the one making the mistake," Marteo answered coldly while his gaze shifted towards Arturia and Vincent. "The job's over, and the bitch mine. What can they possibly do alone?"
In the same instance that Marteo finished speaking, his hand fell down, signalling the Archers to fire.
Dillan felt it before anyone else, the speeding individual that crossed a path of thousands of meters in an instant to intercept the wave of arrows.
"Not alone."
A voice echoed out from the cloud of dust produced, causing Arturia's shoulders to tremble. The voice was all too familiar. Its warmth and care something that she would never be able to forget.
As the dust cleared, a figure appeared from within.
Shirou stood amidst a graveyard of splintered arrows the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down Dillan's back.
If what Dillan had sensed from Arturia before was enough to make him weary, then what he sensed from Shirou terrified him. It was as if hundred if not thousands of blades were cutting into him to the point that his eyes frantically had to check his own body to verify that he was still alive.
In YGGDRASIL, although Shirou hadn't really taken the quest and event mechanics of the game too seriously, he too like other advanced players was maxed leveled. He was, in the New World's terms, known as a Player; an existence far beyond anything the common inhabitants of the New World could ever hope to reach.
And he was infuriated.
Although he knew that mere arrows wouldn't even be able to scratch Arturia's defences, seeing her attacked was one of his largest taboos. It was to the point that he was labeled as the hidden boss of Camelot in the early release when he was still fuming from players actively seeking to kill her before he buffed her. He was known as a fabled Knight that was never seen nor heard, but was able to strike and eliminate players seeking to battle with the King of Camelot in an instant. In the forums, it was decided by a general consensus in the early game that unless this fabled Knight was defeated, none should try to even attempt Camelot's Raid Boss.
In the end, he had grown out of it, but only after he had strengthened Arturia with all of his means. However, habits die hard.
With Shirou's abrupt addition, Vincent didn't know what to feel, but seeing as Arturia knew Shirou, he decided to just assure himself.
Meanwhile, as Shirou was staring across at the sheer number of opponents in front of him, he grew weary. Unlike Arturia who had already had a relative gauge of the strength of the New World's inhabitants, Shirou had no such experience. In this regard, he viewed them in the only way he knew how, as Players mounting another Raid in YGGDRASIL.
His expression darkened. Such Player were generally of the highest level, and he couldn't be certain that those in front of him may possess similar power. Therefore, he quickly made his preparations.
A Magic of the Eight Tier.
"Greater Teleportation."
An invisible gale burst out, a miniature shockwave produced that rustled the trees and forced Marteo and the others to take a step back; their arms shielding their eyes from the subsequent blow of the flying debris.
By the time the surroundings settled down, Marteo was shocked to discover the sudden presence of others.
From the smoke, an armour of pale white appeared: Refined riveted steel bonds and golden lining fitted over a robust physique and exuding a seamless aura unmatched. An unfading light that would never die.
Lancelot Knight of the Lake.
Next to him, a man with sharp and cold features, the black plated armour in which he wore attributed to the nature of his very dealings.
Agravain, the Loyal.
To his right, the Knight of the Sun whose radiance shines from even the darkest of times; he known as the man undefeatable under its light.
Gawain, Protector of the Gates.
Next to his left were Bedivere and Galahad, the trusted aid of the King, and the Shield Bearer carrying with him the insignia of the Castle never once breached by enemies.
In a flash, two other individuals manifested.
Flowing red hair falling in a wave at his back, and a disposition that one could only call elegant. The Knight who fights not with sword or shield, but something that could hardly be considered a bow.
Tristain, Child of Sadness.
And behind him, the Knight of Treachery wearing an imposing armour and horned helmet.
Mordred Pendragon.
As if their minds were in sync, all began to line up with Arturia and Shirou at the center. Only one spot was missing to the far left.
Finally, a man dressed in sagely white robes and blooming roses adorning his every step arose from the air and arrived to fill in the last position. An unearthly aura emanated from the man, one of nature similar to the woodland Elves, yet far more imposing. If not for the fact that half of the man's face was currently bruised black from a slap mark, then his overall impression may have been a lot more intimidating. Unfortunately, the man had sought after too rare of a red-thorned purple rose.
He was Merlin, the Wizard of Flowers.
Standing united, they were the Knights of the Round Table.
The Sub-Bosses of Asgard's Holy Kingdom of Camelot in YGGDRASIL, and Arturia's greatest assurance alongside Shirou.
In the silence, a sword was raised, lustrous and tinged with a golden radiance as wisp-like essences of sand seemed to form a tower of light that stretched on towards the clouds.
It was a pillar, firm yet translucent, the banner of the King of Knights that represented a dream that could only be known as Beautiful.
Yet the sword itself wasn't what drew together the Knights of Arthurian Legend, but the girl who stood at the front delving into an issue that wasn't her own.
Kindness unknown to her time.
And,
Virtue incomparable.
She embodied both concepts wholly. A woman who would take upon herself all the sins attributed to the falling of her Kingdom, and even the mistakes of others that led to its eventual fall.
She was the King of Britain.
A figure that had never once known defeat in battle.
Arturia Pendragon.
The Raid Boss of the Holy Kingdom of Camelot.
Wow, this was a longer chapter than what I was expecting 0.o
Thanks for Reading Cheers!
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